


broadcast the boom

by selinawrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Paris, Beach Holidays, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Christmas, Fluff, Holding Hands, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Year's Resolutions, New York, New York City, Paris (City), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selinawrites/pseuds/selinawrites
Summary: Lance and Keith's holiday escapades as they take the streets of New York City, Paris, and Varadero. It's midwinter blizzards and gas station coffee. Designer chic and smoking off rooftops. Fireworks and sandy hair. Their final moments before the changing of the year and tide.





	broadcast the boom

**Author's Note:**

> (song duology: the 1975 - paris acoustic // lorde - the louvre acoustic)  
> merry christmas! this thing is more cliche than a hallmark movie, but it's christmastime so please forgive me haah  
> -allura isn't dead, but adam is :( i like curtis a lot man  
> -in this universe rizavi and veronica are in LOVE be quiet  
> -there's a fake dating plot but its a BIG plot hole lets pretend its not poorly written  
> -title from lorde's the louvre! (i recommend the vevo x lorde edition while reading)  
> *pours eggnog all over this document*

Keith is walking across the snowy hills, watching as his boots make indentations on the powder-white snow.

 

Snow in the mid west was a rarity, and the Galaxy Garrison and surrounding areas rarely got the brush of snow they sometimes so desperately craved.

 

But they were in New York, and it was just days after their first frost. Just a week before Christmas.

 

To put things curtly, Keith  _ despised  _ New York.

Something tells him that he might have liked Brooklyn in the summer, watching the sun set over greasy rooftops with the dry air swallowing him alive. 

In the wintertime, everything was gray. The sludge was an unattractive dirt-brown and seemed to follow Keith wherever he walked.

 

Team Voltron was doing another press conference, another one of many that he had always seemed to despise.

The war had ended months ago, and Keith hadn’t seen any of his paladins since he jettisoned from the black lion at the end of the war. He was always pit into space by some humanitarian organization or the next, but Keith could never seem to shake earth from his sights.

He was half Galra, but earth would forever be his home, whether he liked it or not.

 

As soon as they landed in the heart of New York City, Keith rented one of those heavy duty trucks that could cross the freeway in the middle of a blizzard and drove it as far as he could upstate. He drove and drove and drove, until he could see only the gray Canadian border on the other side. He didn’t have any real plan or rhyme to his reason, but he needed to get away. After years of piloting advanced Galra technology, driving a pickup truck was child’s play.

Voltron had speeches to give, conferences to attend, questions to answer. It was usually Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro who were the ringleaders of such charades, as Allura and the rest of the Alteans were picked apart like science experiments, if they showed up. Most of the time they were too busy governing their own species. Lance sometimes showed up, but he was almost as reliable as Keith.

 

Keith was currently sitting in the warmth of a rest-stop, clutching tightly to his watery cup of gas station coffee that he was slowly nursing. He was bundled in fluffy layers of goose down and softness, but he could never get around the way every inch of skin was covered in cloth. Keith had never stayed in frigid climates before, and his heart flew with the desert.

He could never sit still for too long. Whilst he was sure that Shiro and Pidge and Hunk were seated in a lodge at the penthouse of the Ritz-Carlton or whatever fancy suite they managed to snag by pulling their Voltron card, pulling Christmas crackers and roasting chestnuts over a fireplace, the thought boiled Keith’s blood.

Keith could never sit still. Not when he was an impatient child bouncing around foster homes for a decade, not when he was participating in Garrison lessons. Not when he was sitting in that dry, itchy desert living in a dirt-poor shack, and certainly not while he was defending the universe.

One could say that Keith was never the best at knowing what to do with his free time. Another said that being impatient and a ruthless vagabond just fortified his resolve to be a fearless defender of the universe.

 

Keith didn’t know what to say for himself.

There was an emptiness that filled his soul. Keith felt like there was something missing in his life all throughout the drive back to the conference hall.

* * *

 

It was the same questions, every single time.

 

_ What do you think of the IGF Atlas? _

_ Please describe the Olkari technology. _

_ Who is single on your team? _

 

Keith could never make it to the end of these PR stunts. Either he drifted off to sleep or one of the reporters’ questions rubbed him the wrong way.

Lance was here for their press conference today, but Keith was at the end of his rope.

Quite frankly, he didn’t even really care.

* * *

 

Lance stepped outside four minutes and twenty nine seconds after Keith stepped out.

Not that Keith was counting.

Keith watched as Lance eyed him warily. Keith sighed, and took a long drag of his cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Lance said dubiously.

 

Keith had a juvenile fleeting desire to flick his cigarette butt into the snow and smile coolly. He’d sneer at Lance and chuckle darkly. This was when he would roll his eyes and walk away. This was when he would get the girl.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Keith would say, and he would ride off into the distance in a convertible. Or a Batmobile. (A convertible batmobile?)

 

Instead, Keith just coughed out the heavy lining in his chest and looked at Lance dismally. For a moment, the small feeling of despair loomed at bay. There was a lighthouse, and Keith thinks it’s Lance’s eyes.

“Me either.” Keith says, after long last. He takes a drag. “But then again, I didn’t know I was Galra, so that must make me fucking invincible, right?”

Lance chuckles darkly as an awkward silence stands in the middle of them. The swell of despair in Keith’s heart grows. Like something is missing in his life.

They had grown too far apart since the war had ended. Even before that. They were long gone before they were even a thing. There was a short, blissful month when Lance provided Keith stability when he needed it the most. When they were playing  _ musical chairs _ , but it was with their lions.

When Lance was Keith’s right hand man.

Keith couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. His fault the chasm between them felt uncrossable.

But one could argue that it was Lance’s fault he was feeling expendable, and that was why Keith left. Another could say that it was Shiro’s fault for coming back, or it was all Haggar’s unraveling of the clones she had made.

Keith could continue working up the food chain and he would never find an answer. He was looking for an excuse, for a reason not to cross the chasm when there were none.

 

“Going anywhere for Christmas?” Keith asked, which was stupid. He knew that Lance would probably go back to Cuba for the holidays. So eternally stupid.

Lance smiled easily and ran his hands through his hair, which was dotted with white, semi precious snowflakes. Everything on earth was semiprecious when they had spent so long away from it.

 

As the question registered in Lance’s brain, a wistful emptiness clouded Lance’s eyes. He smiled quietly, as he tried to brush the subject under the rug. Keith watched Lance chew on his lip. He flicked his cigarette and put it out on the ashtray. “What about you?” Lance asked Keith, after a moment of deliberation, deftly avoiding Keith’s question with another. “Going somewhere for the holidays?”

Keith shrugged. He didn’t really celebrate Christmas, mostly because he had no one to spend it with. He could have said a simple white lie, that he was flying out to Kerberos to meet with Krolia and the rest of the insurgents for the holidays, but it felt wrong and weighed on Keith’s soul sourly.

“Nah.” He said at long last. Keith remembered Pidge’s calculations for Christmas time on earth, and they made the most of what they had to celebrate Christmas in the Castle of Lions. For all they knew, their calculations could have been off. The gift they were given was a day off, and it seemed like a luxury, a rarity in the grand scheme of things.

After that year they got too caught up in plans and missions. Holidays and birthdays didn’t really happen. Time sort of blurred together.

 

Keith looked back at Lance, wondering if they were thinking about the same things.

Lance looked at Keith and blinked. White puffs of fog billowed in front of them with every exhale they made. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Lance asked Keith, his interest piqued.

Keith laughs and shakes his head with an easygoing shrug. “I  _ celebrate _ it,” He began with a smile. “But I’ve just never had anyone to celebrate Christmas with.” He said softly. The sun began to set behind them.

 

Lance looked at Keith, awestruck. He couldn’t believe that Keith never had anyone to spend Christmas with. A fundamental part of his childhood was waiting until midnight on Christmas Eve to open the presents. Some of his fondest memories were with his mother back in their small kitchen all the way in Cuba, helping her marinade the roast pork. He was always tenderly confronted by the omnipresent Nativity Scene that his grandmother put up every Christmas season at the very entrance of their house. He remembers midnight masses and joy around every corner.

He remembers him and his drowsy cousins trying to stay up until midnight for  _ Noche Buena,  _ the Christmas Eve meal that starts late into the evening at around 10:30pm. They gorge themselves on  _ Lechon Asado,  _ decadent grilled pork fresh off the grill. A big part of a traditional Cuban Christmas was the food, but an even bigger part of their culture was their family. 

 

Lance was hit with a pang of sadness. He couldn’t believe that such a large part of Lance’s upbringing was never experienced in Keith’s.

Lance flashed Keith a toothy grin. “I’ve got nothing to do this Christmas.” 

 

Keith blinked in disbelief, and rolled his eyes. Lance was all talk and no action. How could Keith be one to believe that Lance wouldn’t be doing anything  _ their first Christmas  _ back from the war? “I’m spending it with Shiro.” He said nonchalantly. 

“No, you’re not.” Lance said simply. Childishly.

“Yes I am.” Keith argued, but a grin split across his face. It was a familiarity Keith didn’t want to welcome, the ease of bickering back and forth with Lance over trivial things.

Lance chuckled. “You  _ want  _ to be with Shiro and Curtis on their first Christmas together?” He asked morosely.

Keith could just imagine the sounds he’ll hear through his industrial earplugs. He sighed and rolled his eyes, taking another long drag of his cigarette. “What do you have planned?”

 

Lance smiled, all manic energy and life. “One word. Paris.”

* * *

 

It’s 5am, and Keith is watching the sun rise from Lance’s apartment a day later. Keith had been crashing on Lance’s couch as per Lance’s invite. It was certainly an upgrade from Keith’s desert shack. There’s a semi-packed suitcase in the centre of the room and it’s overflowing with a mismatched collection of clothing. Keith bites down on the temptation to tell Lance he forgot to pack the jacket he wore while in space. The apartment was all high ceilings and crystal glass. It was marble and rose gold, and Lance in the heart of it all. Keith could never picture Lance somewhere like this, but there was also no place Lance looked more at home at.

 

Keith knew each one of his teammates got obscene amounts of compensation from the government for defending the universe, as well as their weekly cheques that cash in automatically as reward for signing multiple non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality leases.

He knew that all of his teammates came into new money, but he didn’t realise  _ how much  _ money. (Keith doesn’t really like looking at his account balance when he makes a withdrawal. Money made him feel queasy and like becoming a defender of the universe was a cheap sellout way to make some quick cash.)

 

He’s staring up at Lance who was frantically typing at a shiny new laptop from behind Keith’s magazine. 

As far as California penthouses go, Lance chose a nice one.

 

“What airline do you wanna fly?” Lance asked offhandedly, crumbs from his blueberry muffin at the corners of his mouth. They went to a cafe down the road, and it had the words  _ artisanal coffee blends  _ and  _ cold pressed juicery  _ plastered on every viable surface. It made Keith feel out of his comfort zone.

Keith went back to reading his magazine. He flipped the page when he saw a full spread  _ Voltron  _ article. “Lance, we don’t have to go to Paris.” He said, and then paused as he deliberated whether he should just bite the bullet and ask Lance the question that had been eating him up inside. “Why aren’t you spending Christmas with your family in the first place?”

“Yeah, but I  _ want _ to spend Christmas in Paris.” Lance said, and continued typing at his laptop, printing out two first class tickets a moment later. “And don’t worry about it.  _ We’re _ spending New Year’s with them.” He said, voice far away and distant.

“I mean,  _ I’m  _ spending New Year’s with them. You can come, if you want. Not that I don’t want you there, but-” 

 

Keith’s laughter cut off Lance. “I’d love to spend New Year with your family in Cuba.” He replied instantly, if only to shut the cacophony of orchestras screaming in Keith’s brain. Something felt wrong. Keith recalled a brief, fleeting moment far into the past when Lance wouldn’t stop talking about all of the Cuban Christmas traditions.

Lance stared at Keith and bit his lip, nodding definitively before turning back to his laptop. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll have so much fun in Paris that we’ll stick around for the New Year.”

* * *

 

Paris was damp and cold.

The balance of natural elements in the world was skewed after the war, and it had barely snowed in Paris. It rained and rained and rained, and sometimes the icy sludge dried up into muddy droplets at the heel of Keith’s boot. From what Keith heard from the blur of small talking tourists and locals alike, it barely snowed in Paris, even before the war.

They were strolling down the half-frozen over River Seine with jet-lagged eyes and sloppy smiles pasted on their faces. The smell of cigarette ash made Keith’s throat itchy. 

 

Keith recalled the events of earlier in the day. He was finally seeing Lance in an outfit that wasn’t the one he wore on the day they were abducted by the Blue Lion. Lance was wearing a beanie that curled his front hairs and a cargo green bomber jacket. He had fitted grey jeans on, and he smiled at Keith easily. Keith looked down at Lance’s black combat boots, and he wondered for a fleeting second how much his whole outfit cost.

Keith was wearing a long maroon Belstaff coat, which Lance affectionately and jokingly called it the  _ Sherlock Holmes jacket _ . 

After hours of whispery remarks that “ _ Voltron could get to Thayserix in this time!”  _ and complaints that commercial airlines were so arduously slow, Lance fell asleep on Keith’s shoulder.

 

It was hard to deny that there wasn’t something between them, but Keith didn’t know what it was.

 

He didn’t know where they stood. When Keith sees Lance, he sees the time that he cradled Lance in his arms. He remembers the time he saved Lance from being sucked into an airlock, the times that they’ve fought like two halves of one whole.

They left off on earth, with Lance asking for dating advice. Lance pondering whether he should change for Allura. Keith wouldn’t change a  _ fucking  _ thing about Lance.

The date was wonderful, but the war still loomed heavy. They kissed and Lance bashfully admitted he was in  _ love  _ with Allura, or so the gossip tells Keith. But they were soldiers and the heirs to war, and Lance had to think with his head and not with his heart.

There was a love between Lance and Allura, but they came to the mutual decision that it was in the benefit of the coalition to just stay friends.

In the beginning Keith could tell that Lance was acting off, but they slowly grew back to how they were before. Lance was so grateful, and he was happy to be the best friend and supporter for Allura.

Allura, with Romelle at her side, rules the new Galra-Altean empire. She doesn’t like people to call her  _ queen _ even though it was her birthright, and she pays monthly visits to Earth. Things couldn’t be better.

But Keith looks at Lance, and it’s impossible to understand the label between them now. 

 

They had to grow back together, and they had to grow into each other.

* * *

 

_ “Lance, I’m freezing.” Keith complained for the millionth time, as they grinned for a selfie against the Eiffel Tower at sunset. _

_ “One more photo!” Lance exclaimed through gritted teeth and a bright-eyed grin. _

_ Keith chuckled and rolled his eyes, posing for the photo. _

_ As they walk back to the hotel, Keith asks Lance for a copy of it. He makes it his home screen wallpaper. _

_ Lance does too. _

* * *

 

It’s midnight and Lance can’t sleep. The adjacent bed is unmade but doesn’t look slept in. Lance sees Keith on the balcony, smoking.

“You should really quit, you know.” Lance says, sliding open the screen door.

Keith flicks a look at Lance. Lance doesn’t know what it means.

“This is only my second one.” Keith said casually.

Lance blinked at Keith and joined him at the balcony. Keith was sitting on the railing, twenty four floors up.

 

Their feet dangled over the edge, and neither one cared if they fell.

(They care if the other falls, though.)

(They’d catch the other if they fell.)

 

“You didn’t survive the war just to lose the war to yourself.” Lance said, still staring adamantly at Keith cigarette.

Keith raised an eyebrow and dropped the cigarette butt over the edge. “I won’t die from smoking. Healing pods, etcetera.” Keith argued, but he let out his final puff of smoke and watched the flaming cigarette fly down. Keith didn’t want to get into it with Lance this late at night, and in their half-awake state they both agreed to disagree.

Lance didn’t know what to say. Keith was right.

 

“Why don’t you want to go home for Christmas?” Keith asked abruptly after a long silence. It was midnight on Christmas Eve, and in six hours it would be midnight in Cuba.

In six hours, Lance’s family would be telling stories and eating  _ Lechon Asado, _ his father’s secret roast pork recipe. Lance’s mouth watered at the memory of the crispy pig skin, the moist air dancing around them. But his heart sank when he remembered the turn of events.

“They blame you for bringing the Galra to Earth.” Lance whispered.

Keith didn’t answer. Quite frankly, he blamed himself. In some distorted turn of events he played a crucial role in the Galra uncovering Earth. His mother could have chosen any planet in the universe, but she chose Earth.

Keith nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure where this was leading.

“My family blames you for my grandmother’s death.” Lance says, and it feels like the final nail in the coffin.

If Keith never left for the Blade, if Keith never uncovered the blue lion. If Keith didn’t let Shiro get away and get cloned. If they never came together to form Voltron. If Keith never tried to sacrifice himself. If.

 

Keith doesn’t say anything. He leans his head on Lance’s shoulder and lets the grief envelope him in something soft and bitter.

* * *

 

They have breakfast at a cafe in Montmartre. Lance smiles as Keith gets the Nutella from his crepe all over his nose. Lance wipes it away in the middle of the street.

They explore the Louvre in the afternoon. It’s crowded and they have to hold hands in order not to get separated in the sea of humanity. The humanity that they saved.

(It’s a warm feeling. A buildup.)

 

Keith and Lance find an open-air wing with only two Renaissance sculptures with a thin veil over them at the back of the Louvre. They race down the halls and their laughter fills the air. It’s a rush of energy and the synchronised mannerisms they’ve developed. They take a nap and wake up to the sky streaked violet.

They eat seafood and steaks and shop their hearts out at the Champs-Elysees. They share a warm cup of apple cider. Keith buys Lance everything he wants, and Lance does the same. They smile as a marching band waltzes throughout the city, and the temperature gets colder. It never snows, but they both stare up at the sky as if they could make the weather snowy if they just asked. It’s a symphony of everything fluid and wonderful, it’s a display of human persistence.

Keith bites back a snarky remark when Lance jubilantly exclaims “I told you so!” when Keith says it was a good idea to go to Paris for Christmas.

They don’t know what to get each other for Christmas, so they go into every shop and try to out-shop the other. It’s terrifying, the amount of freedom they have. It feels like saxophones and drums and guitars and every single instrument is getting stronger and stronger and they can feel the tenor as raw as their pains and the vibrato underlying everything else.

The crescendo is all around them. They’re young, rich, and full of manic energy.

(It’s building up in their nights of cold winter air. Lance is beginning to associate the smell of cigarettes with Keith.)

 

Keith swears he quit smoking. He will never admit it’s because of Lance. There’s a darkness that hangs between them, but it’s a darkness that neither one will admit is there. (Plausible deniability.)

When they say goodnight and Merry Christmas, they mean it.

They explore every crevice of the city, and their favourite place is a  _ boulangerie  _ across from a residential area. People order baguettes frequently, and the bakers give it in wax paper. People are eating baguettes on the street as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lance’s French isn’t great, but Keith’s heart flutters a little when Lance whispers “Je veux rester ici pour toujours.” under his breath as he watches the city lights come alive every night, with a warm cup of something sweet in one hand and a boy who once had the world in his other.

 

Je veux rester ici pour toujours.  _ I want to stay here forever. _

* * *

 

And so, when Lance asks —no, begs— Keith to come with him on New Year, because he  _ cannot face his family alone _ , Keith says yes.

 

Even if he knows that nobody in the room will like him.

* * *

 

Lance whispers something into Keith’s ear when they’re in line for immigration. “Will you pretend to be my boyfriend when we get back home?”

Keith looks at Lance in disbelief. “Are you really looking to piss off your mom?” He said with a chuckle, even if his insides feel thick and sinewy and they feel like they’re either about to snap or melt at the suggestion.

 

“I just wanna have some fun.” Lance says with a smirk, hand slipping into Keith’s own. Keith doesn’t know what he means, but Lance takes Keith’s hand and Keith never wants to let go. Not now, not ever. Because Zarkon could very well be alive or Sendak’s clan could come back to Earth and there will  _ be no time  _ for hand holding. “And there’s this girl,  _ Elena _ , who has been trying to date me since like the second grade. She’ll be at the party, as per my mother’s request.”

 

“So, you want to make  _ Elena  _ and your mother jealous?” Keith said, trying to mimic the way Lance pronounced Elena’s name.

“And I want you to help me.” Lance says with irritating defiance and a boyish grin.

Keith smiles as Lance’s accent grows distinctly more Hispanic the closer he gets to home. As Keith closes his eyes and pretends to sleep on the plane, he drifts off, listening to Lance practice Cuban slang and conversational Spanish.

* * *

 

Cuba is damp, and there’s a torrent of precipitation in the mornings and afternoons. It smells like evening rain when they land at sunrise. There’s an air of hope and the persistence to rebuild within all of them. Keith feels like a stranger in his own skin. How had he travelled to the fringes of the universe but not explored his own planet?

Lance babbles on and on about how his family lives in Varadero, and they run a small souvenir shop. It was a popular tourist town and resort-friendly island, and Keith doesn’t have the heart to tell Lance that Keith had already heard him say everything before, on the days his teammates were deliriously sick with homesickness and drive themselves crazy at the thought of home. Keith could never add to the conversation, not even now. He can feel the nerves running off of Lance.

 

Keith takes Lance’s hand in the back of their taxi, and holds it.

Keith doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Lance doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand.

He doesn’t let go, not when they’re walking through the driveway, not when Lance sees the way his mother’s face falls.

Not when the Lance knows they aren’t dating.

But they’re certainly more than friends. And fake-lovers.

* * *

 

The house hadn’t changed much since the day he left for the Garrison.

Sure, they have a brand new car. And the door has a fresh coat of polish. But the peeling yellow paint is a staple, and Lance doesn’t know home without it. The tire swing that nobody ever uses still stays in the front yard, and the ocean is still there.

After all this time, the ocean is still there for Lance.

 

Keith took Lance’s hand several minutes ago and they haven’t let go. Lance wouldn’t consider himself a touch starved person, but he needed the courage of another person in order to get through the day.

And in truth, he didn’t really care what it looked like.

His mother had a smile of excitement on her face when she opened the door, but as her eyes trailed down to her son’s hand,, her face fell.

The snow was barely melted on their coats, and Lance smiled brightly at his mother as if there was no bad blood between them. In truth, many a screaming matches and a racketeer of commotion had been thrown down between them. Lance fiercely defended Keith from his family’s accusation that Keith was to blame for all of this, as he would for any of his teammates.

 

“Mama, this is Keith.” Lance said slowly to his mother, as if he was talking to a small child. 

His mother blinked. “This is Keith, my  _ boyfriend _ .” Lance said firmly and with emphasis. Keith’s insides flipped over.

He knew his mother was angry and still mourning. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose your mother to the war. A war that your son was fighting in.

Lance felt a pang of loneliness and crippling loss when he remembered his grandmother would not be joining them for Christmas. But he remembers her harsh ways. The prayers she would mumble, for so and so to love a man. For the women to go back to the kitchen, for love to be between a man and a woman once more.

 

Lance loved her, but could it be true that Lance loved his mother out of sheer familial obligation? Because the universe had told him to? Lance had always found distaste in his grandmother’s old-fashioned ways, but he remembers the arguments. He remembered the way she fought with Veronica because she didn’t believe women should be in the line of work Veronica was in. The way she pitted herself into marriage after marriage because she only knew how to be a trophy wife. The way she bled her gender roles and toxic masculinity and institutionalized racism into her children.

* * *

 

Keith and Lance take a walk to the cemetery. Where Lance is supposed to find aching, rolling grief that consumes, the grief that forced his mother to say rotten things, he finds only peace.

When they return, a bed is made for the both of them. Lance’s room is across from Keith’s. There’s no balcony or ashtray like there was in Paris, and it smells like fragrance and a home.

 

To sell this carefully crafted lie, Keith stays in Lance’s childhood bedroom. He smiles at the blue-tacked space posters peeling at the dog ears. The room was painted a deep evening blue, and it gave the impression of nighttime, even if it was the middle of the day. It looked like the universe.

Keith knew in his heart that he was wrong. The universe glowed a faint purple. All the blues and greens and silvers and all the colours of life.

 

“Space boy, huh?” Keith asked, eyeing the glow in the dark stars.

Lance smiled, running a hand through his hair. “Like you weren’t a space boy growing up?”

Keith shrugged and took a look around. It looked so lived in, and yet so lonely. There was a layer of dust that filled the air, as if Lance’s room hadn’t been touched since the day he left for the Garrison.

Lance takes the floor and makes a trek to the attic, where they stow their camping gear and sleeping bags. As Keith settles into Lance’s bed, even his sheets smell like him.

 

“Goodnight, Lance.”

“Goodnight, mullet.”

* * *

 

The next day, Lance and Keith are fighting.

“Fuck off, Lance!” Keith exclaims, and Veronica tries not to eavesdrop. “You lied to me!” His words came muffled from behind the concrete walls.

“I didn’t lie!” Lance exclaimed indignantly. “I just… I think I was just not emotionally prepared to admit to myself that it happened.”

“I saved your life, and you told me that it never happened!” Keith exclaimed.

They were both lying on the bed just minutes before, and they were watching the stars. The glow in the dark plastic stars, that is.

There were Lance’s favourite constellations back when he was a child. The Ursa Major and the Ursa Minor. There was also the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.

Orion was near Lance’s desk.

Andromeda, daughter of Cepheus, was at the window. 

 

Lance’s favourite, Perseus, was right underneath Lance’s bed.

Perseus, the hero. Perseus, the son of Zeus.

“Why is Perseus your favourite?” Keith asked quietly. They were just making conversation, passing the time before they were called to dinner. 

Lance shrugged and one might have thought that Lance didn’t care for the constellations much at all, but his eyes held all the secrets of the universe.

“Perseus was the Greek’s hero. He defeats Medusa, fulfils the prophecy, and in the end he gets the girl.” Lance said with a soft, reminiscent smile. “I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” 

 

Keith rolled over to his side to face Lance. “Did everything work out? Did you end up just like Perseus?”

Lance shrugged and looked at Keith. Time stops and stays still. They take the liquid time and hold it for all it’s worth. “We defeated the Galra. Fulfilled our prophecy. Our destiny.”

 

“Did you get the girl?” Keith asks with a raised eyebrow. He’s bracing for a witty comment on how he snagged a date with Allura.

Lance smiled and stared back up at the constellations. “I think I got someone better than the girl.”   


They lay there, and Keith doesn’t think about the implications.

 

After a moment, Lance clears his throat. “Hey, Keith?” Lance begins with a tremor.

“Yeah Lance?” Keith said, staring up at Lance’s quickly darting pupils.

Lance swallows something more than his pride. “I remember the bonding moment.”

Lance doesn’t know what to anticipate Keith’s reaction to be, but he didn’t expect Keith to be overwhelmingly seething with irate fury and anger.

“Fuck off! You pretended that nothing ever happened between us!” Keith exclaimed, and Lance flinched at the insinuation. It wasn’t totally wrong, and Lance admits that it was a shitty move of his to pull.

 

Veronica knocks twice on the door and opens it wide before Lance can invite her in. 

“Lover’s spat?” Veronica asks with a wink. Lance grimaced at Veronica, because she was the only one who knew the truth, the only one that was stuck with them for months on the IGF Atlas with Voltron at their side.

“Go away, Veronica.” Lance said, and it takes him back to when they were kids and the phrase rolled smoothly off his tongue. But they’re older, and Lance is taller than Veronica and his voice is deeper and has lost that childhood rawness. The phrase sounds defeated and not snarky as it used to be.

“Mom’s calling us down for breakfast.” She looks at Keith and then back at Lance, quirking up an eyebrow. “Try not to swear at the breakfast table?” Veronica said sarcastically.

As soon as Veronica shut the door, Lance tried lightening the mood by offering Keith a small smile and wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulder. “Let’s go, mullet.”

* * *

 

Keith tries not to picture his future  _ just like this _ .

It’s the morning of New Year’s Eve, and there’s a small fluffy dog at Keith’s feet. The breakfast spread is a collaboration of so many different cultures and cuisines. Despite Lance’s mother’s obvious prejudice towards Keith, they took Keith in and made him feel at home. 

This was home, this was what the future felt like.

And Keith, he tries not to picture his future  _ just like this _ , with Lance at his side.    


* * *

Keith and Lance walk down to the beach in the late afternoon, the argument in the morning long behind them. It hangs between them but it stays unspoken, much like most of the skeletons in their closet. 

 

Tourists already have sparklers and fireworks propped up on the white sandy beach in anticipation for after sunset. They ditch their sandy sneakers and walk down the boardwalk barefoot. 

If they closed their eyes and just heard the quiet crashing of the waves and the idle chatter of everyone else, they could have been anyone else in the world. 

Lance looked up at the boundless sky. They had given up a part of their youth and an even bigger part of their innocence so that they could live post war.

Post war, post Voltron. Post hating Keith, post loving Allura.

 

He remembers the dream he had last night. Lance had found himself, at the cost of losing everyone else. For a terrifyingly long period of time Lance had wondered if his dream had come true, but Keith was at his side after all this long time.

 

They watch the sunset, and it’s wordless. There should be something more that should be said, but there is simply no words to pout to the questions dangling off their tongues.

( _ Why do you need me to fake-date you? What did Veronica mean by ‘lover’s spat’? Why did you take me to Paris? Why am I here with you?) _

Instead, they continue walking along the dock. They walk and walk and walk, and when the sun begins to dip low into the horizon, they walk back. 

Keith and Lance’s footsteps are the only sound that echo across the boardwalk while the sun sets. And then at last when the sun has finally set, the first fireworks light up the sky.

Lance smiles and laughs, pointing at the sky. Keith doesn’t know what Lance is looking at right away, but then he sees it and laughs as well.

The fireworks are brilliant colours of red and blue.  _ Their colours. _

* * *

 

Keith held up a stick of eyeliner as he raised an eyebrow. “Eyeliner?” He called, as Lance stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and smelling like sea and safety.

Lance’s hair was slightly wavy and damp and he had a grey button down shirt with the top button popped open. Keith looked down at his feet and then back up at Lance.

Lance takes it from Keith’s grasp and holds his gaze, shrugging it off. “I was Veronica’s test subject when she wanted to be a beautician.” He says, and waits a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at applying eyeliner myself.” He said with a shrug.

 

Keith looked at Lance, and everything in his gaze tempts him to rise to the bait. “Let’s see it then.” He said with a sly smile, arms crossed.

As Lance holds the slick and black inky eyeliner to his eye, he pauses and spins on his heel, staring at Keith.

 

“Have you ever tried eyeliner, mullet?”

Keith shook his head.

Lance took a step towards Keith. “I think you’d look pretty good in it.” He said, and Keith closed his eyes. The cold tip of the brush glided across his lids. 

Keith tried not to focus on the soft warm breaths that escape Lance’s mouth and land on his nose gently. They were so close, that they were practically on top of each other. One step closer and they could have been kissing.

When Keith looked at his reflection, he looked immaculate and ethereal.

His eyes were dark and defined, and Keith thought that eyeliner was the second most beautiful thing in the world. 

He already knew what the first one was.

* * *

 

If Keith was attracted to girls, he thinks Elena might be the girl of his dreams.

Her skin is the colour of the setting sun, and her hair is a light brown. Her eyes are a cloudy grey, and she has a smile that dances on her skin that makes it look like she knows something that no one else in the room knew.

Elena immediately flew to Lance’s side when he and Keith returned from their walk. Lance was always polite, and seemed to be using the mannerisms that the Alteans had instilled in them for use when meeting with alien diplomats, but in his eyes Keith could see that he looked bored and impatient. They were talking for hours, but Lance was smiling and nodding for the most of it and trying to come up with clever excuses to leave.

Veronica sidled up to Keith with a red solo cup in hand. Nadia Razavi, one of the IGF Atlas technicians came as Veronica’s plus one to the McClain’s annual New Year’s eve party and stood beside her with a small smile on her face.

 

Veronica looked at Keith and shot him a look that Keith couldn’t decipher. “Have you met Elena yet?” She asked.

Keith looked down at his own cup and took a sip. “I don’t think Lance wants to introduce her to me.”

Veronica stifle a chuckle. “That’s fair.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and Veronica just nodded her head. “Lance never liked Elena. Not in  _ that way _ , at least.” She said, and Keith bit his lip not totally understanding what she meant.

Nadia whispered something in Veronica’s ear and they politely excused themselves. “Happy New Year, Keith.” They said in unison.

 

Lance catches sight of Keith not long after, and he walks over to Keith slowly. 

“You tied your hair.” Lance says dubiously. Keith nodded, running a self-conscious hand towards the nape of his neck. He hadn’t gotten a haircut since they last left Earth.

Keith rolled his eyes. “You never told me Cuba was this humid.”

It was twenty seconds to midnight, and Lance smiled. “I like your hair tied back, Keith.” Lance said earnestly.

He wrapped his arm around Keith’s waist, his other clutching a drink. Both their backs were facing the house, and eyes out to sea.

Ten seconds, and Keith leans into Lance’s embrace.

Five seconds. Keith thinks that this might be the year. This could be the year that things stick. When humanity stops running each other to the ground, when people stop hating other people for loving certain genders.

 

This could be the year that makes or breaks humanity. The year that the white people aren’t the only ones that survive on screen. The disabled, gay, man of colour isn’t given a wedding scene posthumously to appease their ever-diverse audience. This could be the year where the black princess isn’t reduced to a love interest. The year that the Hispanic boy doesn’t become a farmer. The year that diversity is the standard, not a promise. The year that the president of the free nations doesn’t ostracise women and keep children at the border. The year humanity rises from the ashes. The year that the world rebuilds.

 

The year Keith has a boy in his arms.

Midnight comes, and there’s no silly cliche. They hold each other for five minutes after midnight in silence. Only when the rest of the crowd packs up and goes home do they walk back into the house.

They walk back up the stairs and stand outside Lance’s childhood bedroom.

 

“Do you want to know what my New Year’s resolution is?” Lance asks. 

Keith looks up at Lance. No matter how tall Keith grows, Lance will always be an inch above. “What is it, Lance?” Keith asks softly.

“My resolution is to take you to Paris more often.” He says with a sudden sad smile.

Keith laughs and shakes his head. This boy will be the death of him. 

He kisses Lance on the lips, and it feels like everything. This boy will be the death of him. The heartbeat in his chest feels like it’s playing through the speakers. It’s a song he will never get enough of. 

Lance kisses him back, and it is coming home. Keith had been here all along, he just needed the right time and place. It’s soft and confusing and they don’t know how they got here, but they do. (This boy will be the death of him.)

“Do you want to know my resolution?” Keith asked, a resolution he had only come up with three seconds before.

“I think I already know it.” Lance says, wrapping his hands around Keith’s waist.

Keith rests his chin on Lance’s shoulder. “My resolution is to kiss more pretty boys and watch more sunsets.”

Lance takes Keith’s hands, and it feels like a promise. A curse broken, a universe made. “I like the sound of that, mullet.”

It’s one in the morning in the new year. The fireworks are loud, but they never interrupt. This could be the year that everything changes. This could be the year that things work out.

 

Not just for Keith and Lance, but for the universe and every reality there is.

And so, when they crawl into bed together and stare up at Orion and Aphrodite, Perseus smiles back at them.

“I want to experience what the world has to offer with you.” Lance says softly, against the crashing of the waves.

Keith looks into Lance’s eyes. “You  _ are  _ my world.” He says, as Lance drifts off to sleep. It doesn’t matter whether Lance hears Keith or not, because they both know.

They’ll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you have a good holiday season. the world may suck but you probably don't. all love, etc.  
> -selina <3


End file.
